


Only the Sound of a Gun

by doctor__idiot



Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Established Relationship, Hurt!Sam, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prompt Fill, Top Sam, hurt!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 04:56:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9584501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: Dean’s had what one might call a rough day.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'hurt/comfort'.
> 
> Title from Chris de Burgh's "The Sound of a Gun".

Dean’s had what one might call a rough day.

It’s looking up, thank god, because the werewolf is dead and they’re back in the bunker but he’s limping, favoring his right leg, and there are scratch marks all the way from his elbow to his wrist. His knuckles are bruised and every time he moves his right middle finger, there’s a painful stabbing sensation so it’s probably broken – or at the very least cracked. Plus, there’s that monster headache that just won’t go away.

He raises his hand to gingerly feel the bump on the side of his head and Sam asks for the third time, “You sure you don’t have a concussion?”

“I’m sure,” Dean says for the third time, “I know what a concussion feels like.”

Sam still looks unconvinced but he doesn’t press it. For once, Dean is actually telling the truth. He’s not dizzy, he doesn’t feel nauseous, it just fucking hurts. Being slammed headfirst into a wall will do that to you. Maybe he’s getting old, maybe his reflexes aren’t what they used to be. Maybe they just caught a bad day, it’s been known to happen.

Truthfully, they’ve had a lot of those lately. Bad days. Dean sighs. He is itching for some coffee but he knows it will only rile him up and sleep is probably his best bet right know.

If Sam lets him, and from the constant looks he’s shooting Dean, it doesn’t look like he’s gonna stop hovering any time soon. Sam fared better than Dean did this time but there are still claw marks on his shoulder that Dean hasn’t had a chance to look at properly. They might require stitching. 

What a pair they make.

Dean has made it to his bedroom and through the door when he notices Sam followed him. Might as well check out that shoulder now.

When he turns around, however, opening his mouth to instruct Sam to take his shirt off, he finds himself enveloped in Sam’s arms instead, his little brother hugging him tightly to his chest.

Dean is so surprised that he splutters, clutching Sam’s biceps on instinct and lets himself be held. Maybe his ribs suffered as well in that wall incident because they are protesting Sam’s crushing hold right now but Dean refrains from saying something about it because he notices that Sam is trembling.

“Sammy?” he prompts softly and more than a little bewildered, “What’s wrong?”

“What’s–” Sam’s voice is muffled by Dean’s shoulder, watery when the word breaks off into a humourless laugh. “You–” He stops again and Dean can feel him shaking his head.

“Hey,” he says, “I got thrown around a little, it happens, no need to freak out on me. What’s going on?” 

He pulls back, making Sam loosen his death grip to look him in the eyes. Sam isn’t looking at him, staring at a spot behind Dean’s head instead.

“Nothing,” he says quietly and his voice sounds steadier than before. “I just… It’s been a day.”

Dean’s ribs twinge when a laugh bubbles out of him. “You’re telling me.” 

Sam gives him a weak, lop-sided smile but a smile nonetheless.

Ready to extricate himself from his brother and go fetch the first aid-kit to at least put some bandages on Sam’s shoulder – the wounds aren’t deep now that Dean can see them up close, barely even bleeding anymore –, Dean makes to turn away. He doesn’t get far because Sam tightens his grip again.

“Stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere, I just wanna see if we have some salve and bandages.”

Sam nods, drawing Dean in again, one arm around Dean’s waist, the other tilting up his chin. “In a minute.”

‘A minute’ turns into much longer when he kisses Dean because Sam’s kisses always seem to have that effect on Dean. His hands find his brother’s hips and he melts into the kiss. He is aching all other, his head is still throbbing, and he isn’t sure how much he is actually up for but it sure feels pretty fucking nice to have Sam this close, pressed up against him and holding Dean against his own body. His hands and lips and tongue are prying Dean open and laying him bare in a way no one else has ever managed.

It’s kind of ridiculous really how gone for his brother Dean is but it’s very difficult to care with Sam’s hands sneaking underneath the hem of his T-shirt, deft fingers unzipping the fly of his jeans. Dean moans into his brother’s mouth and he swears he can feel his headache lessening.

Sam makes an equally happy sound and gently steers Dean back towards the bed, lowering Dean to the mattress carefully instead of throwing him onto it like he normally does in the heat of the moment – which Dean finds pretty damn hot if he’s perfectly honest.

Maybe Dean’s finger isn’t broken after all because it only hurts a little now when he curls it in Sam’s mop of hair along with his other fingers, holding on while Sam sucks marks into the underside of his jaw and the skin of his neck. Because, apparently, he doesn’t have enough bruises already, but who is he to complain when Sam is stripping both of them of their clothes at the same time, taking great care not to jostle Dean too much. Dean appreciates the effort but he’s not exactly made of glass and he would really prefer it if they could speed things up a bit. His cock is hard in his underwear and he rocks his hips into Sam when Sam stretches his body out on top of him.

Dean wiggles out of his last piece of clothing, ignoring the pull in his ribs. He is going to be sore as hell tomorrow – on all accounts – but Sam’s naked skin feels too good against his own to stop. So he doesn’t, wraps his legs around Sam’s middle instead, silently prompting him to get a move on.

“Sammy,” he breathes, already mostly beyond words.

“Here,” Sam whispers back as if Dean didn’t know that and it makes him shiver with anticipation. 

Sam grabs the bottle of lube from the nightstand and he’s got two slick fingers inside of Dean by the time Dean becomes impatient. He’s moving his hips, rolling them in time with Sam’s finger-thrusts, and holding on to his brother’s uninjured shoulder.

“Come on, Sam, not gonna break.”

Sam shushes him, mouth ghosting over the sweaty skin of Dean’s belly, tongue delivering little kitten-licks around Dean’s navel, making his abdominals quiver. He takes pity on Dean eventually, lubing up his cock and sinking into him inch by agonizingly slow inch. Dean clamps his mouth shut against an embarrassingly loud moan and then Sam is kissing him again, lapping up all those sounds threatening to spill.

It’s difficult to hold on to Sam without hurting his shoulder but Dean manages, looping his arms around Sam’s back, fingernails digging into shoulder blades, and he takes Sam deeper with every thrust, with every twist of his hips.

Sam takes his time more than he does other nights. Whether it’s because he wants to or because he’s wary about hurting Dean, Dean doesn’t know but it’s so mind-numbingly good that he wants to sob with the intimacy of it. He wishes it could last longer but they’re both exhausted, strung tight with adrenaline, and Dean is so incredibly turned on, he comes as soon as he wraps a hand around his cock.

Sam makes a choking noise when Dean’s muscles seize up, his own cock buried deep in Dean’s ass, rhythm faltering, and Dean’s so sensitive when he comes down from his orgasm that he can barely stand it. His legs fall away from Sam’s waist, splayed open, and Dean can feel the jab of pain in his right knee more clearly now. It doesn’t take away from the pleasure, though, and he can’t stop all the small noises he knows he is making.

Sam shudders against him then, arms locked tightly around Dean’s torso, mouth pressed to Dean’s collar bone and Dean can feel sticky heat inside of him, making him shiver and his spent cock twitch.

He is bone-tired and he imagines Sam is, too, so he just rolls them until they’re laying side by side. He runs his fingers through Sam sweat-damp hair and leans to kiss him, lazy mouths moving against one another.

“Sorry for freaking out on you,” Sam says quietly, voice slightly hoarse. Used. It’s stupidly sexy and Dean smiles with his eyes closed.

“If this is what’s gonna come of it, feel free to freak out on me more often.”

Sam nudges him softly, indignant huff of breath against Dean’s jaw.

“Still gotta look at that shoulder,” Dean says but he’s already drifting off. 

He distantly registers the tips of Sam’s fingers against his cheekbone, Sam whispering, “Later,” and then the darkness grows fuzzy and he falls asleep.


End file.
